Too bad he still couldn’t cook.
She’d been upbeat and chatty on the drive, but now a shadow passed over her features. Her shoulders slumped and she stared at her plate, lost in another world. Somewhere not as safe.
“You missed the bread.” He pushed the basket over and breathed in the scent of steamy dough and rosemary. “Rip away, I can get more.”
Gen shook her head. “No thanks. Carbs aren’t smart. I shouldn’t have had that pizza either last night.”
He raised a brow. “You used to plow through the whole basket, leave me with the crumbs, and have never once been overweight. Where’d you come up with that crap?”
“David.”
The name shot like a bullet and shredded through denial. He fought the blistering anger again at the asshole’s ability to make her question everything about herself—from her career, to her sex life, to her damn weight.
He sharpened his voice. “You work out regularly. I’d also bet you’re underweight now and could use some bread. Try a piece.”
A ghost of a smile passed her lips. “You’re bossy.”
“That a surprise?”
She tore off a piece and nibbled. Then closed her eyes in delight. “Oh, this is good. It’s got garlic, too. Better not breathe on you later.”
He snatched up a slice and munched. “Now we’ll both reek. Did he make you doubt yourself?”
She jerked. Wolfe knew well the best way to grab a secret is the art of the surprise attack. Sawyer had taught him the move well, trying to pull information from him he’d tried to lock down inside. “No,” she said softly.
Lie.
He didn’t challenge her. Just nodded. “Good. Because if he did, that would be a major reason not to get married. Not that I’m an expert, but I think you’re supposed to inspire confidence in your partner. Right?”
“Right.”
The waiter interrupted them with the appetizer. The crawfish beignets were the specialty and had the delicious crunch and flavor as if they had been plucked straight from the lake. Damn good.
“He’s a perfectionist. Part of his talent, I guess. He’s one of the most sought-after surgeons in New York. You can’t blame him for wanting to be better and pushing others to do the same. Look at you and Purity. You’ve dedicated everything you have to making the Manhattan site a success. You even learned golf.”
“Thanks to Nate.” He’d met Nate Dunkle on the course when he’d been desperate to learn the game in order to sign an important client. Though they didn’t know each other, Nate gave him private lessons and taught him enough to play decently in record time and score the deal. He was now hooked up with Gen’s friend Kennedy. “Who would’ve thought I’d enjoy hitting a little ball across a field to put it in a hole? I used to make fun of golfers and now I am one. And you’re right, I’m a bit of a perfectionist in wanting to succeed and not accepting failure. Nothing wrong with it as long as you don’t break the cardinal rule.”
“What rule?”
He kept his attention on his plate to give her space. “Don’t hurt people while you’re doing it.”
“I don’t think he meant to.”
“Intentions are noble, but if you still hurt someone, does that make it acceptable?”
The waiter took their plates, refilled the water glasses, and disappeared. The tension between them tightened. If he ripped David apart, she’d defend him. The guilt was eating her up alive, so he’d play the game and maybe she’d come to the true realization on her own.
“I’m a selfish bitch, Wolfe.”
“Why? Because you went with your gut rather than make the biggest mistake of your life?”
“No. Because I had fun today.”
His gaze locked with hers. A mixture of emotion beat from her body, gleamed in her eyes. Anger. Sadness. Shame. Frustration. She held herself stiffly, as if afraid once she let go, she’d never be able to go back.
She was right to feel that way. He knew too well you couldn’t go back.
“When was the last time you did have fun, sweetheart?”
The desolation on her face broke his heart. “I don’t remember. But that’s not a reason to dump your fiancé at the altar.”
“Probably not. Which means there’s a bigger reason you haven’t gotten to yet.”
The waiter slid new plates in front of them. The impressive piece of Angus beef was rare, crusted with a peppercorn brandy, and placed over fried oysters. They forgot their serious conversation for a moment.
“This is sick,” she said in awe.
“Agreed. Just a heads-up: you’ll need to roll me out of here.”
“I have no problem with that.”
“Good.”
They feasted in silence. She was the only woman, besides his family, he felt comfortable eating around. Still didn’t know why. When he took dates to dinner, he was never settled enough to really dig in, as if he needed to play a certain role and it might slip if he revealed too much. Probably those years in Italy around Julietta’s mother, Mama Conte. Food was an analogy for emotion and the soul, she used to cite repeatedly. Both were nourishment if received with the proper respect. A pang shot through him. It’d been months since he’d visited and he missed them. But Gen was able to manage heavy conversations in between bouts of quiet that no one else had mastered. Another bond they shared.
“I laughed today.”
Her self-disgust made him want to comfort her, but she needed tough love. “Humor is a good way to deal with heavy stuff.”